Naughty or Nice
by Lovingh3art
Summary: It's Christmas Eve. The presents are wrapped, the children are asleep, and only Santa Claus is stirring as he prepares to inevitably deliver presents to millions of children. But - ah! What's that? Deadpool has come to talk to Saint Nicholas? Whatever could he want with the father of Christmas? (Spoiler: to off him, kiddos!)


**(D/P): Hiya kids! Deadpool here! Being that its holiday season, my wicked friend Lovingh3art asked me to let him write a fanfic about me for the WA Holiday Challenge. Me! Not that I'm a shy guy, but it really did make me blush under the mask. So of course, I just had to sign over my rights to him!**

 **And If anyone here thinks my new best friend copied this story from that recent issue Skottie Young published about me, then they're in FOR A WORLD OF COPYRIGHT EDUCATION!**

 **Enjoy it, or I'll sue you with a chimichanga lawsuit.**

 **I swear it on Duggan's resume!**

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One cool rhythm echoed in the hallways of the large house hidden in the colds of the North Pole. A cheerful song was hummed and sung by an old man at an aged wooden desk. He was plump, sporting a thick white beard, and wore a red jumpsuit with white cuffs. Despite being fabric, it didn't exactly hide his belly full of jelly. Not that it ever bothered Santa Claus in his work.

Tonight was the night he'd been waiting for all year long; his bag was filled with so many gifts to spread around the masses. All he had to do was finish his dual lists, those for the nice and the naughty, so he'd know whom to visit – and who to not pay any mind.

"Deck the halls with balls of jolly! Fa la la-"

SLAM!

"Knock, knock, Santa!" a juvenile voice dispensed.

The father of Christmas slumped in his seat. There was only one person that rude who would barge in. Not Jack Frost, not even Victor Von Doom.

 _Deadpool_.

The brightly dressed mercenary strolled into the room, the floor creaking under the weight he applied to his steps.

"Wade Wilson," Saint Nicholas mused. "I take it you've come to talk about collect a bounty on me?"

"Hah!" Deadpool laughed. "Looks like I'm not the only one good at noticing opening clichés, eh Santa?"

Santa's eyebrow rose in confusion. "What?"

"Yeah, nevermind that last bit. As much as I'm sure I – and the readers- " he slyly motioned towards the screen – "would like that to happen, that's in the past. I'm present for a different reason!" His spandex fingers worked his way to his hips and then caught onto the guns. A split second followed, leaving the jolly old man to see the barrels of both weapons inches from his face.

"Kill You!"

"Why am I not surprised?" Santa retorted.

Deadpool frowned under his mask. "Yeah, that's what I- wait, what? You thought…Oh…Yeah, I didn't mean I was gonna kill you for some other nut job. I'm just gonna' kill you for myself!"

"By shooting me? You do realize who I am, Wilson."

"And that's supposed to scare me?" He moved a little to the right with his gun's still trained on the holiday figure. "A? you're a mutant with a _deus ex machina_ backstory. B? you're a creepy old guy with diabetes and too many magic slaves on your behind. Or C? You're really just an old, naïve fart. Take your pick!"

Santa coughed. "I find those options insulting. Honestly, I thought you'd understand why you were on-"

"-the _naughty_ list? Reality check, snow beard; I never believed in you up until word spread around my parts. Abusive childhood and all."

"That's not how I remember it," Santa said.

"Really? Maybe that was before Way retconned my backstory in 2008," Deadpool replied. His cartoonish expression suddenly jumped when he looked behind Santa at this workbench. "You have Amazon Alexas here? What, they outsource them to you or something?"

The old man grumbled something and then gazed up to his pistols once again. "We have elves working there. That's how most children tomorrow will be getting them. Provided you don't kill me, of course…"

"Please! You think I care about the potential bloodying of killing Santa?"

"Wade…" Santa was darkly serious this time around. "The reason I put you on the naughty list? It wasn't because of your abusive childhood, not at all…but as you grew up, you started behaving in uncomfortable ways. Beating up bullies, robbing to prove yourself, being rude in general…I understood that you weren't given a positive environment…but you were naughty."

He looked back to the small pile of toy parts on his workbench. "At least…you've done some good. So just think on that, Wade. And just think on what would you get out of hurting me. Imagine the millions of children you'd be putting in peril."

Time came to a standstill for a few short seconds, Deadpool's control over the guns relaxed….

And then he chuckled. A chuckle that escalated into a baffling laugh shocking Santa's face.

"I-I'm sorry…" he apologized hysterically. "I just…wow! We were really entering one of those 'emotional' lifetime moments, weren't we? Damn! Guess Fox could make this into a screenplay if they wanted."

Santa's face sloped into depressed belief. "Did any of that register? Any?"

"You could say a bit or two here and there," he pointed out, "…but…nah!" The flick of the moment sent his guns pointing at Santa again. "Still gonna' have to kill you, Santa. Ready to say your goodbyes?"

 _This can't be it. My end. There's still so much for me to do, there's still-_

The guns clicked and he closed his eyes. He expected the shots to be quick but brutal, the pain spreading into all of him. He tensed more and more until he felt like his breath was being weighed down by his efforts. He had to fortify himself.

But…nothing came. Seconds passed bit by bit until he opened his eyes again. Deadpool was still there, looking smug with the twin guns smoking. Where had he hit? The plump man felt his entire body for injuries, yet came up with none.

"Look behind you," Deadpool said. He did as he commanded and, to his horror, saw a gaping pair of bullet holes in the enormous "naughty" list.

"What-"

The mercenary walked right up to him and glared down. "Let's set something straight, Santa. I couldn't kill you because you're boring. Give presents to kids, be cheery? Too safe for me to murder. And also, you've got a ton of friends in marketing, so wouldn't want to piss off Tim Allen when he makes _The Santa Clause IV."_ His expression synched into a darker face. "But your nice and naughty lists? Bull! Everyone's good and bad, that's why those schmucks in psychology call it a grey area!"

"I can live with being crap," he added, "but don't do that to all the kids in the world. Get me?"

He turned to the exit, though not before unloading two birds from his free hands. "See you next year, Nick!"

One very confused and alarmed Santa Claus was left there to ponder what had exactly occurred just then. His eyes darted to the naughty list, the nice list and his workbench, and then the exit to his workshop.

"The f*** just happened?"

Goodness, the elves or his wife weren't around to hear him say that.

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 **A/N: And that sure was a fun ride, readers! Lovingh3art really killed it with this story. You can totally favorite me, follow me, or just leave a review of my antics. And, uh…I would, considering that my wife Shiklah demands tribute for me sometimes.**

 **Anyways, happy holidays, geezers and kiddos! Hope to see you at my Christmas movie!**

 **(And if I had creative control, I'd totally make it R again. That was Fox's choice).**


End file.
